Found on Stevie Rae's listog. ^_^

• Midnight Snacks. It’s late. You’re hungry. Feel free to climb out of bed and raid the fridge, but hurry back, because I guarantee you’re not gonna find anything as delicious as my pussy.
• Unplugging. Are you a doctor on call? Didn’t think so. No texting, twittering, or tumblring during couple time.
• April Fools Day. You can be cute about it, but if you embarrass me in public, I’ll reign down mischievous fuckery until your head spins.
• Let’s Build a Sofa Fort! I’ll totally fuck you in it.
• I Vote. And one day, I want to vote for a woman who’s made sex tapes, done lots of drugs, and doesn’t believe in god.
• Restaurant Rudeness. No matter how bad the waiter is, we do not make a scene. We speak to the manager, make a graceful exit, and don’t let it ruin our evening.
• Evidence. Yes babe, the sex tapes are ours. But know if we ever divorce they become mine.
• Sticky Fingers. That toddler that smells like syrup is not touching my iPhone. I don’t care if it’s our kid.
• New Years Eve. I don’t care if we go big or stay home, as long as we get to make out at midnight.
• Occupying Wall Street. I’m thinking that should be your euphemism for fucking me in the ass. Don’t worry. I won’t protest.
• Sunday Mornings. I might get down on my knees, but it’s not gonna be in church.
  • BEST ONE YET!
• Laundry Day. Stuffing the washing machine with everything in the hamper and then hitting the start button does not count as “doing the laundry.” Fluff and fold, motherfucker.
• Skymall Appliances. Let’s never be one of those couples who gets all excited about the latest Dyson vacuum cleaner, a Subzero refrigerator that plays Pandora, or god forbid, a fucking Margaritaville blender.
• Orgasms > Generic Compliments. Something else to remember the next time you fuck up.
• Pedestals. I don’t want you to put me on one or bend over backwards for me. I may, however, ask you to bend me over a pedestal. That sounds like a fucking blast.
• Bacon. Bring home the bacon. Literally. I love bacon. That shit is delicious.
• Birthday Blues. When I say I don’t want anything and am going to skip celebrating this year, whatever you do, don’t believe me.
• Promiscuity. You know better than to ask how many men I’ve slept with, and I know better than to have ever kept track.
• Head Scratches. Dude, why don’t you moan like that when we’re fucking?
• Star Wars Marathon. How about I pretend your dick is a lightsaber and go down on you while humming the theme song instead? Okay fine, we can do both.
• Class. It’s one of those things you can never have too much of, kinda like toilet paper and lube.
• The Sink. There’s no such thing as the fucking hair fairy. Clean that disgusting ring of beard shavings out of the sink yourself.
• Angry Birds. Make for angry wives. Put that stupid game down and play with me instead!
• Diet Coke. Not Coke, Pepsi, Coke Zero or fucking Diet Dr. Pepper. And if you drink my last one, we’re gonna have problems. Big problems.
• Bad Moods. I get it, you’re hungry and had a lousy day at work. Go eat a sandwich then rub one out or something but don’t take that shit out on me. If I wanted to live with an overbearing menopausal woman I would’ve married your mother.
  • This ones just funny.
• My G-Spot. You don’t need a map to find it.
• Climate Control. Don’t you dare touch that fucking thermostat! I am a delicate flower and you pee on trees. Adapt.
• Three Day Weekends. Sailor Jerry, BBQ, hotel pools, the beach, and at least one titty bar. You’re my partner in crime, giddy up!
• Ed Hardy Anything. Over my dead body.
• Books > Flowers. Something to remember the next time you fuck up.
• Hangover Trifecta. Snacks, naps, and a blow job. Yeah yeah, I love you too.
• Princess. Don’t ever fucking call me that.
• My Ass. Patting it, pinching it, spanking it, biting it, fucking it, and occasionally lighting fires underneath it each have their appropriate moment. Your discretion is key. Use it wisely.
• Lighting the Grill. Okay, I get it. It’s your thing. You can be the one to do it.
• Before knocking me up. Just know, if I don’t get to drink or do drugs for nine months, then you don’t get to drink or do drugs for nine months.
• If I die young. Feel free to fall in love again and re-marry, but if you ever take the bitch to our spot by the bar at Mastro’s, I will haunt your ass forever.
• Breakfast in Bed. Will be how you refer to going down on me in the morning.
• Love Letters. You’ll always start them off with “Dear Honey Cunt.”
• Lotion. Did you really use my Creme de le Mer moisturizer to jerk off? You idiot. That shit costs more per ounce than Vegas cocaine. If you run out of Jergens, use spit next time.
• Text Messages. I don’t snoop. You don’t snoop. In case you ever did, though, you might find my best girlfriend listed in my phone as “Tucker” just to fuck with you.
• A sandwich. Fuck yeah, I’ll make you one.
• Coachella. You already got us VIP passes, right?
• Pizza Toppings. Go nuts. Balls to the wall. The pie is our canvas.
• Communication. Workday sexting can be a fun distraction from time to time, but please don’t send me pictures of your penis unless you’ve done something funny like put a donut around it.
• Daddy. I’m never going to call you that.
• Name Calling. No name calling during fights, unless the names are hilarious enough to distract us from the reason we’re fighting in the first place. Suggestions: Thundercunt or Cockmonger.
• History. There’s no use pretending that neither of us have a history prior to our relationship. We both know that our sexual skills were built with years of slutty practice and morally questionable decisions.
• “We”. “We” are not pregnant. “I” am pregnant. Saying that “we” are pregnant when I’m the one carrying and birthing the baby is sort of like me cooking you Mexican food and then claiming that “we” have gas.
• If I Die Young. Part of your postmortem husbandly duties are to go through all of my things and throw out the embarrassing shit before my mother gets to it.
• If you’re going to wear sweats to the restaurant. I’m telling the hostess who seats us to bring you some crayons and a cartoon placemat.
• Legacy Naming. I don’t care how awesome your uncle Bart is, we’re not naming our kid anything that rhymes with “Fart.”
• We’re going to make a lot of parenting mistakes. Let’s not make putting leashes on our children when we go to the mall one of them.
• Period Sex. I know you don’t care, but these are Léron sheets. We’re laying down a beach towel.
• The Lawn. It’s not gonna mow itself.
• Dress Code. There is no compelling reason for either of us to wear pants when we’re alone in the house, unless one of us is making bacon.